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As Color Fades Away
Chapter Eleven
Well, Lance thought, it could have been worse.
He was alive for starters. And he didn't think anything new was broken, although his left leg, which had taken the brunt of the landing, ached all the way up to his hip and his knee didn't want to bend very well. His head was pounding a new tempo too from where he smashed it on the wall and he could feel blood dampening his hair. But all in all, for jumping out of practically a ceiling vent in a freefall he hadn't done too bad.
He hobbled forward, each step on his newly cut feet sending lancing pain all the way up his body and a trail of bloody footprints behind him, and collapsed gratefully on top of a large box that seemed to hold a series of mismatched boots, setting the blaster right next to him and in easy reach, safety turned back off. He just needed a minute to catch his breath. That was more than fair.
He took the dobash to look more closely around the room to see if there was something he could use in his escape. The uniforms and shoes were too big but he was at least going to nab a tunic. And maybe, he winced, looking at his bleeding feet, he could try and tear one of them up into bandages.
A clothing rack was in reach of where he'd stationed himself, and Lance pulled it over by tugging on one of the tunics, wincing as the wheels squeaked in the otherwise quiet room. He yanked it off the hangar and took a moment to just hold it, reveling in how surprisingly soft and warm it was. It made him realize how cold he was again, as sweat cooled on his skin.
Without waiting another moment Lance maneuvered the oversized tunic over his head, wincing as he stretched both his chest and then had to feet his broken right arm through it, but a moment later it was on and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. And despite the fact the tunic was clearly Galran make, even it it was black and not purple, Lance felt comforted wearing it. He didn't feel so... exposed.
It hung long, nearly to his thighs, and the sleeves came down to almost his elbow while the neckline was trying to slip off his shoulder. He frowned. That could be a problem.
He decided to wear it around for now and if it continued to slide and provide a possible impairment to his movement... then it would have to go.
Lance hated how he already knew the answer to that. Stupid Galrans and their stupidly large heads.
He would take even more pleasure now in cutting one up to use as bandages.
He just wasn't sure how he was going to do that part as he had no knife and even had the fabric not been quite as thick he had no ability to pull it apart with his compromised right hand.
The grate seemed to wink at him as his gaze moved about the room again he grinned back at it. That thing was most definitely sharp as his feet could attest to. Maybe if he stretched the tunic over it he could pierce it and then pull it apart?
A few painful ticks later he'd stumbled to the grate with a tunic in hand and settled onto another storage box. Tilting it up he held the cover between his knees, gritting his teeth at the ache in his left one from the fall, and dragged the tunic across the corner. The faintest sound of ripping fabric reached his ears and he allowed himself a grin.
It had actually worked.
He ended up having to hold one corner of the fabric in his mouth and the other with his working left hand and make a sawing motion across the grate corner, but before long he'd destroyed the tunic – and it was just as satisfying as he'd imagined – and had a pile of jagged fabric strips.
Tying with only one hand was going to be tricky, but he could do it. Well, he sort of could do it. It wouldn't be pretty but it would get the job done.
He chose to bandage his feet first, as they were stinging pretty badly and still dripping blood. He wedged a strip of cloth between his toes and then carefully wrapped it around and around his foot, tucking the end of it back into the foot wrappings near his ankle. He experimentally flexed his foot and the bandages stayed in place.
Cheered on by his success, the second foot received the same treatment. He skipped his chest for now since it was covered by the tunic, but he had a feeling he'd be attempting to rewrap what bandages were in place there as they were most definitely damp from rubbing against the vent tunnel although the pain was not as bad as he had been expecting.
That left...
His hand.
Lance grimaced at it. It looked worse than it had just an hour (two? three? He had no idea of how long he'd been in the vent for) ago; the skin around his broken fingers and wrists even more swollen and purple than before and as he'd already discovered it hurt beyond belief to even try and clench either of those two fingers and being that they were the ones he used to actually do things with... well, too late to wish Theodore had broken his pinky.
Now what to do about them?
His wrist was definitely beyond his limited knowledge as it had not just been broken but twisted and looking at it for too long made his stomach twinge. His fingers though... maybe he could fix those. And if he could then he would have his dominant hand back for shooting and at least capable of grabbing onto things although supporting any sort of weight was out of the question due to his wrist.
He just needed to do it. He swallowed thickly. It couldn't be that hard, right? Just bend the finger back at the knuckle where it very clearly was supposed to line up with the rest of his fingers.
He'd do the index finger first. It was a little more straightforward than the thumb.
It couldn't even hurt that much, really. After the pain from the saliidda and all the other injuries he'd already endured this was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Not painful at all.
He amended that statement as he reached out to pinch his index finger and let out a sharp hiss at the contact.
It was fine. All of this was fine.
He just needed to... to pull down at the knuckle. It'd be over in a blink.
Lance took one deep inhale, closed his eyes and yanked on his finger.
He barely contained the scream from the self-inflicted injury as his hand felt like it was engulfed in fire.
He'd lied. He had so lied. This was much, much worse than he'd thought it would be.
The acid taste of bile swam up his throat and he swallowed heavily praying he would not be sick. "Dios mío," he whimpered, hunching over the limb. "Duele..."
Breathe, he ordered himself. In and out. In and out. Just breathe. Relax. And after a little when the pain had whittled down to a steady ache Lance risked a glance at his finger. And the barest of smiles tugged at his lips as the digit was once more straight and seemed to be as it should. "Gracias a Dios," he whispered. It hadn't all been for nothing. He'd fixed his finger.
He experimentally tried to flex it and stopped immediately. Yup, it was still most definitely broken. He could maybe try and use it in a pinch, but it was not going to be good enough to pull the trigger anytime soon.
He glanced at the thumb and then shook his head, regretting the movement as the room spun around him. Right. Head injury from the fall. Probably best not to engage in any extra movement.
But thumb was a no go. That was fine. As he'd learned just setting it did not actually heal it so it would be pretty useless anyways for what he wanted to do.
Moving on, Lance carefully wrapped his index to his middle finger so at least that hard work would not go to waste. He used another few strips to wrap about his wrist; it would do nothing for the break but it would at least hold it steady. He devised a sling with two more pieces but then paused.
To put over the tunic or to remove the tunic.
He knew what he wanted... he also knew what would give him his best chance.
And whimpering he forced himself to shrug out of the tunic, flesh immediately raising into goosebumps at the loss. Lance did what he could with the remaining strips, wrapping them awkwardly around his rib cage one-handed and using his right elbow to hold them down. They weren't as tight as he'd like when he was done, but it was at least another layer to the indeed bloodied bandages.
He pulled on his sling then and settled his right wrist into the loop, wincing at the new pressure but knowing this was much safer than letting it hang loose and be a deadweight at his side.
Injuries taken care of to the best of his ability Lance set his sights back on his original objective: escaping.
So, steps. Exit room. Locate way to open coded doors (aka disable a sentry). Find hangar. Steal ship and get away. Hope he could figure out the controls to radio the Castle of the Lions. Go home and hop in a cryo-pod and try and pretend all of this was a horrible nightmare.
Okay, so fine, maybe he should backtrack to the first few steps. Exit room and find either a sentry or the hangar. Don't fall over either, he added, as upon standing the room spun ever so slightly on the edges and he caught himself on one of the boxes.
After he had his balance back Lance picked up the blaster and edged to the solo door in the storeroom, this one fortunatley having a handle on the inside for him to open. He did so, pushing it just a couple inches. When no action was forthcoming, he pushed it the rest of the way open and slid out.
The hallway was fortunately empty with blank walls stretching in either direction, lighting dim and purple-cast as the entire ship seemed to be. Lance figured he'd continue the trend and picked to go left. He crept silently down the hall and practically holding his breath as he strained to pick up any sound.
He made it to an adjoining hall and then another corridor, always moving left when he could, before he heard the sound of metal on metal and realized there was a sentry squad headed in his direction.
There wasn't anywhere for him to go though. There were no other doors down any of the halls and no air vents - although honestly he wasn't sure anything but last minute mortal terror could propel him into one of those again. So it was either retreat backwards and hope they didn't follow or meet them head on and try to rush past them. He needed a sentry hand, right? This could be his chance.
But such a plan was incredibly reckless. It was a Keith thing to charge out like that and Keith could afford to be as reckless as he was because somehow he always came out on top. Lance tamped down the sudden stirring of both envy and despair.
A better model would be Shiro, and, Lance figured he had already been asking himself what Shiro would do since he had woken up on the Galra base. So what would Shiro do?
Caution, he could almost hear Shiro say, along with that mantra of "patience yields focus" that Lance didn't entirely get but it seemed to mean something to Shiro, even if he had taken to uttering it almost like a prayer while pinching the bridge of his nose during some of the Paladins' wilder antics. In any case, caution and patience would be his friend here. As soon as he engaged the entire ship would have his location and he'd really like to avoid that outcome.
So Lance backtracked up the hall he had come from and angled around the corner to wait, hand ready on the trigger in case the sentries were to come down this offshoot. And after a few ticks though the clanking feet faded away and Lance let out the breath he'd been holding.
Obstacle avoided.
"Thanks, Shiro," he murmured, the sound of his own voice bringing him a sliver of comfort, despite the fact it was still a hoarser rasp than he was used to. He licked his lips and swallowed, aware again of how thirsty he still was. Top of the order after he got back to the castle was to stick his head under the kitchen sink and not stop until he burst.
He let out a low chuckle. Hunk hated when he did that – incredibly unsanitary, he would sniff – and then Lance would lick the faucet. It was worth it, even if he then had to spend the next twenty minutes disinfecting it under Hunk's watchful and anxious eyes.
Okay, focus, focus. He shoved aside the memory and the warm, safe feeling he got whenever Hunk he thought of Hunk and looked back at the hallway.
Go time.
Darting back out and even more cautious than before, he hurried down the hall where the sentries had just come from. He made it a few more halls without incident before his ears picked up another sound. This time it wasn't metal on metal though; it was softer.
Actual Galran officers.
Quiznak.
What did he do now?
He cocked his head, listening, and his eyes widened.
It sounded like there were only two.
He... he could take on two.
Two opponents, even if they were capable of original thought unlike the sentries, were much better odds for him.
And...
And maybe it would solve the problem of accessing the locked panels.
He had made the decision he needed a sentry's hand, but he'd snuck aboard enough Galran ships to know that not only did Shiro's Galran arm activate the panels, but so did any of the Galran's.
The panels were coded to their DNA.
He just needed some Galra DNA.
And blood, Lance gulped, would hopefully, maybe do the trick. He didn't want to remove a Galran's hand in any case.
He really didn't want to have to hurt them like that. Or kill them. He knew he was likely being foolish, but... His hand shook on the blaster.
He didn't want to kill again. He didn't want to cause any family, even one as cruel and twisted as Theodore's, to suffer more than they had to.
He was a good shot. He could take them down without killing them, without allowing them to sound the alarm. He could do this.
Lance took a quick breath to steady the shaking in his hand and focus his vision. He'd literally only get one shot at this, so he needed to make it count.
Ready?
No, not really.
Set?
Sort of.
Go!
Lance whirled around the corner where the footstems were coming from and in a single tick took in the scene.
There were two officers about thirty feet out. One was armed with a rifle; the other with a huge gun. A communication device was on the rifle-ones shoulder.
And best yet both of them had yet to fully react to seeing him.
This was his chance.
He fired his gun three times in rapid succession, adjusting the barrel just slightly with each pass. The first went straight through the radio with a sharp crackle. The second took out the right arm of the huge gun-wielding Galran and the third hit the chest of the other solider (armor preventing it from being fatal but still shoving him backwards at the force) before they'd even had time to blink.
Both yelled out in a combination of surprise and pain and the large gun the soldier had been holding dropped to the floor as he involuntarily released his grip on it from the strike.
The rifle-wielding Galran's eyes widened though as though he realized what Lance had done, or rather had not done.
Lance had them dead to sight, neither wearing helmets and a headshot would have stopped them in their tracks, but he hadn't gone that route. The barest trickle of confusion crossed the Galran's face and he lowered his rifle slightly.
His comrade did not hesitate in the slightest. "You!" he snarled, lunging for him with bare hands instead.
Massive, massive clawed bare hands.
Hands that could so easily wrap around his still tender throat and suffocate him.
Lance swallowed and did not let himself fall into that what if trap.
He was escaping and he was escaping now.
He let off two more shots of his stolen blaster; a second strike to the chest for the confused one, who went down with a harsh gasp, and then two shots into the unarmored thighs of the charging Galran.
He didn't stop.
If anything he seemed even angrier and he was coming even faster, closing up the remaining yards between them like an enraged, charging bull.
Despite the fact that self-preservation was demanding he get out of the way, Lance lined up another pass, the familiar sense of calm that he'd sometimes get when he had to make a really tough shot overtaking everything else. The world around him faded to the point where he was only aware of the sound of the blood pounding in his head and the feel of the trigger under his hand as he raised the gun, sharp eyes accounting for every angle and movement.
The Galran lunged for him, leg extended, chest exposed...
And Lance pulled the trigger.
The beam went dead center through the Galran's torso, mere inches before his outstretched hand could strike him.
The Galran made a gargling shriek as the pressure from the blast shoved him backwards and he went down to the ground.
He didn't move this time.
Lance remained where he was, feet planted, gun raised and chest heaving as he waited for either to get back up. He knew they hadn't been fatal shots and they coudl very well get up and attack. He could end that option by sending a blast through their unprotected heads but... Lance shook his own. No. He'd made his decision and despite the increased danger it had made for him it felt... it felt right.
Both Galrans seemed to be down for the moment though, although the rifle wielding one was beginning to twitch. Lance frowned at that one, even as he told himself to stop wasting time. He'd never seen any Galran hesitate before and he definitely counted that soldier's actions in that category. Surprise, he decided. He must have just really surprised him when he popped up around the corner like that.
He didn't dare hope (or dread) that he'd just taken out one of those undercover Galrans Ulaz had mentioned he was a part of.
Lance carefully made his way towards them, legs shaking as the adrenaline high began to wear off and exhaustion kicked back in and his vision felt fuzzy around the edges.
He needed to hurry up.
Very, very carefully Lance shifted the blaster to his right hand, wincing as he forced his remaining three healthy fingers to curl around it and the trigger but even that action bending his wrist, and held out his left hand, palm open.
This was going to be the gross part. At least he wasn't Hunk, he comforted himself, as he lowered his hand to the rampaging Galran's leg where dark blood was already bubbling up and saturating the cloth. He'd have puked several times already.
Galran blood was like the rest of Galra: purple. It still smelled metallic though and had the faintest sheen of red even under the purple lighting. Lance resisted the urge to gag as he liberally coated his palm in it and several drips made it down his wrist and towards his elbow.
It was grape juice, he told himself. Really, really thick grape juice. Maybe grape jelly.
It most definitely was not blood.
Not at all.
His stomach twisted and Lance stopped trying to think about it completly.
He kept the gun held awkwardly in his right hand, knowing such a thing wasn't entirely safe but he didn't dare risk smudging the coating on his left hand in case the scanner needed a full read.
Oh Dios this was insane.
The moment of truth came a hallway later as it ended in a sealed door with the dreaded panel on it. Whatever was behind it was sure to lead somewhere he needed to go, but if this didn't work he'd be alerting them to his location with a cheery "access denied" warning of some sort.
Please.
Please let this work.
Lance pressed his bloodied palm to the console, holding his breath.
The panel glowed yellow and the door retreated into the ceiling.
It had actually worked.
Lance limped into the resulting corridor, which appeared the same as any other although it was nearly double the width.
Which was apparently the perfect size to fit an entire squadron of sentries.
Dios mío.
Lance froze like a deer in the headlights as he counted twelve all armed with blasters halt their patrol route and about-face to look at him.
There was a moment of silence by each party before the sentries all as one raised their blasters, the insides glowing a soft purple as they hummed to life.
Lance's only chance lied in the fact that they would not be trying to kill him... and that he had no qualms about headshots on robotic sentries.
He switched the blaster to his left hand once more, finger falling with already practice ease on the trigger, and raised it as he ran forward towards the pack. Sentries,he knew, stopped shooting once within a certain range.
He certainly wouldn't though.
Before they'd even discharged their guns he'd taken out four.
Eight to go.
They were firing now, shots sizzling through the air. Lance hissed as he felt one graze just above his hip and another one clipped his left shoulder. He couldn't control the yelp of pain that was dragged from him at the hit but he gritted his teeth and kept going.
Two more heads exploded and then Lance was in the mass of sentries, shimmying his way through their metal limbs and ducking low to avoid their arms as they turned, trying to track him with their blasters.
He squeezed out the other end not even a few ticks later, a few more bloody scratches to show for his time in the horde, but otherwise very, very much alive
He took out two more from behind – six left – and took off down another corridor while they sorted themselves out to commence the chase.
He tore down an offshoot hallway that led into another supposedly main one as it was secured by a coded door. Lance smeared his bloodied hand against the panel, no time for a full on print and he refused to let go of the gun, but the blood itself seemed to be enough and the door shot open again...
Where his current string of bad luck continued to show as he encountered not one, not two, but four Galra officers on the other side.
Lance fired his gun at the surprised group, two shots angled for the lead one's stomach – they struck dead center – and the next one for the sword-wielding one's legs.
The gun beeped instead.
Lance gave it a bare second glance.
Its indicator light blinked up at him.
Out of charge.
Out of quiznacking charge.
Of all the things–
He didn't have time to wait around though as the Galrans were shouting and charging at him now and he no longer had a viable weapon.
Running it was.
He pivoted on his heel and shot off down another hallway, feeling the heat of the Galrans' blasters around him, that had nothing on the hot tears threatening his vision.
So close. He was so close andthen this had happened.
He couldn't let it end here.
It couldn't end here.
He refused to accept defeat.
He encountered another locked door and desperately swung his hand onto it, dead blaster thunking against the metal.
It didn't open.
Shots ricocheted around him and Lance grit his teeth as he felt sharp metal fragments pelt him as a blown out light fixture took one of the hits and heat and pain sear the very air.
He smeared his hand over it more, blood sinking into the pane and finally it opened. Lance dashed through and smashed the now useless gun down atop the matching panel on this side, a shower of sparks bursting from the console and the door slammed down behind him with a groan.
After nearly a tick too long the door finally rose up and he ran through. There was a matching signature panel on this side of the hall and he smashed the gun against it, sparks flying at the action. The door gave a sudden groan and dropped; trapping the soldiers on the other side and leaving Lance alone in this newest hallway.
He'd heave a sigh of relief, except for the fact that he suddenly couldn't seem to catch his breath. He tried to take an inhale and a step forward and found himself instead tilting towards the ground as the world spun around him.
Both knees struck the ground and he painfully, barely, caught himself on his left hand, blaster skittering away.
Get up! he screamed at himself. Get up! Get up get up get up! The exit had to be just beyond. Get up!
But it was like watching someone else's body. He knew that the trembling blood-soaked hand splayed out in front of him was his, but he couldn't seem to move it to push himself back to standing. It was like every string holding him up had been cut and now he was a broken marionette without a puppeteer.
He managed a garbled, wet cough and felt something filling his throat.
Blood.
He spat weakly, chest seizing at the motion and felt more blood bubble up and coat his tongue.
Where was it coming from?
Another wracking gasp took over his body and he desperately tried to cough up more but it was filling his mouth and he couldn't find the strength to spit it out again.
He couldn't breathe.
He was drowning in his own blood.
His hand collapsed beneath him, sending his body crashing to the floor and blinding agony ripping through him, vision whiting out. He tried to cough as he felt blood going down his throat while at the same time trying to come up, but he couldn't manage.
Everything was starting to grow darker now, more muted.
He was dying.
His left hand twitched, fingers fading to blurred digits, but didn't move more than that.
He couldn't move any more.
He'd...
He'd failed.
He wasn't going to escape.
He was going to die.
But...
His eyes closed.
At least this way...
At least this way he knew his family was safe.
There could be no trade for the Black Lion now.
No way for him to betray them.
You couldn't interrogate a dead body after all.
But...
But he didn't want to die.
Not really.
There was the muted sound of footsteps now, approaching quickly, and Lance breathed in another lungful of blood.
He may want to live...
But he had to die.
There was no saving him anyhow. He could tell he didn't have much time left.
With the footsteps came voices, harsh and quick and angry.
He couldn't make out the words.
Even with his eyes closed he could sense everything going darker.
He tried to find his peace with it. It was all he could do.
It...
It was better this way.
His family was safe now.
He felt a hand alight on his shoulder, digging in, and a whisper breathed over him.
He couldn't really hear it though.
Everything was black now.
He sank into it, welcoming it.
And then there was a laugh.
It was cold and cruel and loud and it broke through the near comforting haze.
He could feel something there.
Someone was in his head.
Haggar was in his head.
"There is no escape for you, Paladin," Haggar whispered, voice echoing from from the very depths of his mind and filling Lance with a horror and dread he could not begin to describe."Not from this ship. Not from death." She let out a soft laugh that rang with dark promise. "And especially not from me."
Author's Notes:
And the attempted escape comes to a close. Darn those pesky blasters for running out of ammo when you need them most! Although even that may not have saved Lance since it sounds like he took quite a hit himself. Ruh roh. On a positive note, looks like Lance isn't going to die today! So, thanks Haggar. You're the best!
You guys are also all the best, with special best-ness awards going out to the readers who are also reviewers! I failed a bit this week at responding to signed-in reviews, but please know that I appreciate every single one of you and you never fail to make my day. I'll try to be better this week! Special thanks for the reviews go out to the lovely: Dragon Queene Layla St Gabriel, FanaticFangirl2602, Jadegem02, deaththecripple, wingedflower, Guest, McCorkren, shinXlullaby, Guest, DoctorMerlinReid, cookiebook322, unicornpie (I love your name!), LishaChan, SonoSvegliato, bluejwrtr, JinsTales, sally3015, Remi Rukh, Alexa, Swirly Rainbow, StrawberryFever3, Blakeyfur, Melody, Bryler, PaintedWings45, Kuma the wolf alchemist, Violinworld, AniVanilla and GracefulReader.
As always, if you've enjoyed the chapter/story please do drop a comment below! I've noticed quite a few "original" readers have gone MIA (hope y'all haven't gotten captured by Galrans!) so if you're still here and safe please do let me know! Thanks a million everyone for the support and see y'all next week!